


It's My Beautiful Life

by just_jess12



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlolly - Fandom
Genre: F/M, It's a Wonderful Life, Pre- Reichenbach, Slight Sherlolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-27
Updated: 2014-05-30
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:59:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1060398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_jess12/pseuds/just_jess12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Sherlolly Fan-fic loosely based on Frank Capra's It's A Wonderful Life.  Pre-Reichenbach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I wish I'd never been born

**Author's Note:**

> As the Christmas season draws closer, the holiday films are starting to play again. I was thinking about It's a Wonderful Life when this idea popped into my head. It's my first fanfiction, so I guess we'll see how it goes. Wish me luck!

 Molly sighed inter her glass of cheap Merlot, and wished she had chosen quality over quantity. Her day at work had been even worse than usual, and the wine had yet to numb anything. As she stared into the swirling liquid, she thought back to earlier that afternoon, and a tear leaked onto her cheek. _I'm so useless to everyone. No one would even notice that I didn't come into work except to wonder why the paperwork was piling up. I can't get it right with Sherlock, I just keep making an ass of myself. I wish that I'd never been born._ Her thoughts sped up as her stomach churned, and she staggered out of her chair and down the hall towards the loo.

 

* * * * * * *

A strong hand with lacquered nails was shaking her by her shoulder.

“Wake up, Molly, we've got a full schedule and I don't like to be kept waiting” a firm voice said.

_What's going on? I was just having a drink a moment ago, in my own apartment, by myself. Who is this woman?_ Dark eyes looked down into her own.

“I'm Irene. I'm here to grant your wish. Are you ready to go?”

Molly winced at the throbbing between her temples and tried to form a cognizant sentence.

“What wish? Who are you? Irene Who? H-how did you get in here?”

Irene stood crisply, and leaned to offer Molly a hand. She pulled Molly to a stand and said,

“I'm Irene, The Woman _The W_ oman. Like I said I'm here to grant your wish. You wished that you'd never been born. I'm here to show you what life would be like if you had never been born. Better get your coat, this is going to be a cold night.”

“H-how can you possibly show me—Is this supposed to be some Dickens novel? I-I'm not really in the mood for a practical joke tonight, especially not from you. What happened to your face, anyway? Sherlock knew you by not-your-face, how are you here now?”

Molly's thoughts blurted themselves out one after another without pause. The Woman smiled and said, “Come, Molly, you have much to see, and we're wasting time.”

She took Molly's wrist and led her to the door.

“Earlier this evening you wished that you had never been born, which is a terrible thing to wish. I am here to show you what life would be like if you had never been born. Stay close to me, it can be a bit disorienting.”

Before Molly could think how to react, she had been swept out of her flat and down the cold London street.

 

“What exactly are you going to show me?” Molly asked as Irene tugged her along.

“People.” Irene answered “The people whose lives you have touched, the ones you think don't notice you, or know what a difference you make.”

 

She stopped abruptly, pulling Molly up beside her. “Look, there's our first example.”

Molly followed where Irene's finger pointed, and saw John stumbling out of a pub. 


	2. Oh Johnny

Molly looked up into Irene's face.  
“I don't understand what's happening.”  
Irene sighed impatiently.  
“Tonight you're going to see what life would have been like, if you were never born. The only way you'll understand that is by talking to the people who are directly affected. We'll start with John Watson. He's over there trying out his beer-legs. Go and speak with him. Go now. Go!”  
Molly found herself being forcefully pushed towards John, and she reluctantly crossed the street to where John was standing. _This seems a bit silly, still, I was pretty tipsy—perhaps this is all just a dream. If that's the case I'd better just go along with it._  
“Hi John, how are you?”  
John looked up at her blearily. “Mmh? Hello, Love. What can I do you for? N-no, hang on, What. Can. I. Doo... For...You?”  
“John, it's me, Molly. What are you doing here? You need to get home, you'll get ill out here like this in the cold.”  
She took his arm with the intention of leading him towards a cab, and he stumbled against her. As he lolled his head in her direction his breath blasted across her face, and she almost stumbled herself.  
“Molly Molly Molly. My Irish Molly. Sorry sweets, not ringing any b-bells. 'ave we met?”  
Molly sighed and glanced quickly back to where Irene was standing. Irene seemed to be smirking just a bit, but she stood otherwise completely impassive watching the spectacle. _Fat lot of help you are. Of course you'd bring me to someone completely smashed. Now what do I do?_  
“Yes John, we've met, we work together. You'll remember in the morning when you've sobered up. We need to get you home. Come on now.”  
John looked even more confused, the alcohol exaggerated his features as he frowned.  
“Work together? Before Afghanistan then? Are you from m-my residency? I'm sorry I don't remember you, I'm a lil' drunk.”  
Molly glanced back down at him. “No, we work together now, you and me and Sherlock.”  
John jerked away from her.  
“Sh-Sherlock. That bloody git. He jush didn't know when to quit. Always 'deducing' everyone.” John gestured for emphasis.  
“Couldn't take it anymore. He drove me up the bloody wall. I moved back in with Harry. She drives me bonkers too. 'Swhy I'm here tonight. Gonna chelebrate by myshelf.” He peered at her again.  
“Are you h-here to c-celebrate with me?”  
Molly sighed and gestured again for a cab.  
“No, John. I'm not. What do you mean you left Sherlock? You both worked so well together.”  
John giggled and the hiccuped.  
“Sherlock was always so b-bloody rude. Always. I t-tried to tell him. I tried. B-but he just didn't get it. 'Don't be abshurd, Jawn. I'm only being practical. People realize.' I got tired of apologizing for him. S-so I left.”  
John started humming “All by Myself” off-key to himself. A cab finally pulled over, and Molly bundled him into the back seat. He slurred out Harry's address and she closed the door and stepped back. As the cab pulled away she made her way back to Irene.  
“I don't understand. Why should this have happened? Why would John leave Sherlock without me? How could I possibly have made a difference to them?”  
Irene laid a hand on Molly's shoulder.  
“Molly, you were there the day they met. You saw John react to how Sherlock behaved. Sherlock noticed that, and then looked at you. It was the first time he realized that what he said could negatively impact someone, even if he didn't mean it to. He cared about you, and he wanted to ensure he didn't hurt you again. Because of you, he started taking social cues from John.”  
Molly interrupted.  
“Sherlock doesn't care about me. That can't be. He always says horrible--”  
Her voice trailed off as she began to recall specific instances when Sherlock indicated that he'd meant to be helpful. She remembered his apology as soon as he realized he'd hurt her at the Christmas party. _Is it possible that Sherlock really does care about me. Thinks of me as a friend? Surely, surely not?_ She was still trying to understand what it could all mean when Irene took her by the hand and started walking again.  
“Where are we going now?”  
“It's time to meet our next example. Do keep up, we've got a schedule to keep.”  
Irene led her through the maze of alleys and side streets until they came to Baker Street. She slowed again, and pointed Molly towards a fragile looking senior hobbling down the sidewalk. Molly watched as the woman's shoe caught on a crack in the pavement, and when she stumbled forward , Molly recognized Mrs. Hudson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the advice on formatting, hopefully it'll be easier to follow now.


	3. Mrs. H

Molly instinctively rushed forward and put out a hand to steady the frail woman.

"Mrs. Hudson! Are you alright?"

The older woman peered up at Molly from her bent, shuffled position.

"Who are you, Miss? And how d'ya know my name?" She groused.

Molly continued to support the elder lady while trying to think of an appropriate answer. This night was getting weirder and weirder, and The Woman didn't seem inclined to help with anything.

"I'm a friend of Sherlock's" Molly said. "I've been round to Baker Street a time or two. I must've just slipped your memory with all his other friends."

The older woman scoffed. "That's impossible. Sherlock never had any friends. Other than that odd brother and the policeman, no one ever bothered him. He couldn't even keep a flat-mate. He kept bellowing and shouting, all hours of the night. Shooting up my walls, wearing out my carpet. Never anyone to talk to unless there was a case. marring my table and leaving things in the fridge. Horrible things. Like thumbs. It was gruesome. Too awful. I finally threw him out. He was starting to get behind his rent without a flatmate, and a woman can only handle so much before it's enough. Favor or no favor, even what he did for my husband wasn't enough to save him in the end."

Mrs. Hudson's angry rant ended in a coughing fit, and she jerked forward with each racking breath. Molly hurried to support her arm. _Well, there isn't anything more I can do here. Mrs. H. seems so bitter, and angry. I guess I'd better get her on her way and finish out this weird dream. It keeps getting stranger and stranger._

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Mrs. Hudson, I'm sure it must have hurt you to decide something like that. Is there anything I can do for you? Would you like me to call you a cab?"

Mrs. Hudson jerked her elbow away from Molly's grasp.

"I'm just fine by myself, you young tart. Be on your way, and leave an old lady in peace. I haven't time for your sympathy and lies. Sherlock never had any friends. Never. I ought to know."

With that she stomped off down the sidewalk, favoring her old hip as she hurried through the cold. Molly sighed deeply and returned to Irene's side.

"Well, how was any of that possibly _my_ fault?" Molly snipped.

Irene flashed a grin. "Isn't it obvious? Come now, don't be dull. Brainy is the new sexy. Figure it out."

Molly's brow furrowed in concentration.

"She said, that Sherlock didn't have any friends...anyone to talk to. But that's not true. He talked to me, and John, and Lestrade, and any of his clients. What did she mean?"

Irene rolled her eyes rather expressively.

"You've already seen John, and how you impacted that, without John in his life, Sherlock drove away the few aquaintences he already had. Besides, you know first hand how he can complain. He comes to you often, for that express purpose. Without a buffer, a confidant, Sherlock was even worse. His acerbic nature drove everyone away until he was utterly alone. He was so crazy with boredom that he got himself evicted, by the woman who could've loved him like a mother; but instead came to hate him as a nuisance and a waste of brilliance. Because you were never born."

Molly stared at the pavement trying to process everything she'd just heard. She looked up at Irene suddenly.

"What about Lestrade? He needed Sherlock, for the cases. Surely he could've done more to help Sherlock, than I ever could. He could've saved him. What happened to him?"

Irene's eyes bore into Molly's own.

"Let's go and see, shall we?"

Her laughter seemed to swallow Molly up, until they were standing in front of Scotland Yard's office bank.

"Go inside and get his forwarding address so we can see him." Irene instructed.

"Forwarding address?" Molly was confused."Has Greg switched departments?''

Irene's smile seemed a shade more sad as she pointed towards the main door.

"No love, he's had to leave the force."


	4. Can't Play in the Yard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know it took me a ridiculously long time to post this. Life got in the way for a while, and then I wasn't even sure I would finish it, not sure if anyone cared, but I realized, even if it was only for me, I needed to finish something in my life. So here's the next bit. I'm working on the end right now, and it should be up soon. If you're still reading this far, thanks so much.

Molly walked back to where Irene was waiting and handed her the slip of paper that Sally had given her. She had seen Moriarty's picture on the police board of interesting people, and it had shaken her. Sally must have misinterpreted Molly's sudden reaction as something to do with finding Lestrade because as she written out and given the address to Molly she had confided,

“Don't worry, Miss. He may have been shoved out of this joint, but he's not a complete mess. He'll look after you—he's honest.”

Molly had blushed when she realized Sally thought she was Lestrade's mistress, but not knowing how to clarify she'd muttered her thanks and hurried out of the building as quickly as possible.

“Well, do we catch a taxi now or what?”

Molly asked, trying to sound as blasé as Irene looked; but the Woman just smiled at her rather like a cat smiling at a wounded canary.

“Come, Molly, don't be such a peasant. We're already here.”

Molly looked away from Irene's eyes and blinked. Sure enough, they had shifted without her noticing, and were standing in front of a second rate apartment building. _I've got to stop looking at her eyes,_ Molly thought, _This is getting too weird. Ha. What am I saying? This whole night has been weird. I have to be dreaming._ They entered the archway together, and then Irene's lacquered red finger pointed towards one of the doors.

“Go on then, go and see the poor man who suffers since you've never been born.”

Molly's shoulders rose defensively, and she pulled her jacked a bit tighter round her shoulders to guard from the suddenly icy wind. _Now what shall I say to him if he doesn't recognize me? John was drunk, but Lestrade won't be. Perhaps I can ask about Sherlock. Surely Lestrade knew him, he might know what's happened to him._ She straightened, strode over to the door, and knocked. A minute passed, and she glanced back at Irene uncomfortably,

“Maybe he isn't home?”

At that moment, the door swung open. Lestrade peered out suspiciously.

“Well?” he huffed “Who are you and what do you want at this time of night?”

Molly shifted awkwardly on her feet. She glanced towards Irene in hopes of some support, but The Woman had disappeared yet again, _Blast her!_ Molly looked back up at Lestrade.

“My name is Molly Hooper, and I'm looking for Sherlock Holmes. I was told you might be able to help me find him.”

Lestrade's features softened slightly and gestured for her to enter the flat. Molly's thoughts raced wildly as she stepped over the threshold, _I've got to have some sort of story for him to believe so that I can get him talking! What can I possibly say? He knew Sherlock, he wouldn't believe the old girlfriend routine. What do I say?!_ Lestrade's front room was small and cramped with ragged furniture and an ancient TV that was dimly lighting the far corner of the room. Through the open doorway at the far end Molly could see an equally tiny and cramped kitchen piled high with takeout containers and unwashed cups. She sat at the edge of the sofa Lestrade beckoned her towards and took a deep breath wondering where to begin; when Lestrade began to speak.

“I knew Sherlock for quite some time, but I haven't seen him recently. I'm sorry, Miss. He used to consult on cases with me, and he was right brilliant at them; but he was such an arse that no one wanted to work with him. He constantly insulted my forensics team, and rather early on he alienated himself from the entire staff of St. Bart's, it got to the point where he had to do all tests and scientific work on his own, at his flat. When he got evicted, he didn't have anywhere to do the work, and he couldn't complete cases quickly enough. Crime was on the rise, and he had no support to solve it all. He started to go a bit mad about it too. He kept raging on and on about how there was a villainous mastermind behind it all who was pulling the strings on hundreds of cases. A 'big spider in his web of crime' he said. Of course without a lab or forensics team, Sherlock just wasn't able to prove anything. At that point we had so many unsolved cases due to insufficient data, that I was fired from the force. Since I had been the only one willing to listen to Sherlock, he had no one else on the force to let him consult. He disappeared. I haven't seen him in ages. I used to look in on him when I could; but he was evicted from his second flat and I couldn't find him after that. His phone's been switched off. I think, Miss, he's probably back on the drugs at this point.”

Lestrade paused abruptly, overwhelmed by emotion he wasn't allowing to surface. Molly waited, breath frozen, completely shocked at Lestrade's story. After a moment Lestrade looked back at Molly,

“I know you said you were trying to find him, Miss. And I'm not sure why you would, like I told you, he had no friends. But my guess is, there isn't a Sherlock Holmes left for us to find. If he's not yet dead, he soon will be. It was the work that kept him from the drugs, and without the work there isn't any way his brother could've prevented him from succumbing. That brilliant brain of his is probably slavering mush by now. Whatever it was that you wanted from him, best to just let it go.”

Molly was surprised to find her nose dripping with tears when Lestrade finished speaking. The idea of Sherlock with all his wonderful gifts and beautiful brain lost in a haze of heroin saddened her deeply. She swiped at her nose and bolted upright off the sofa.

“Thank you so much, Inspector, for speaking with me. Although, I hope to God you're wrong.”

“It's just Lestrade now, Miss” he said, “and so do I. So do I.”

He led her back to the door and held it open as she passed through.

“Best of luck to you, Miss. Whatever it is you're hoping for.”

Molly smiled at Lestrade one last time, and stepped off the stoop onto the curb. She turned left and started walking down the dimly lit street. _I wonder where Irene has gotten to. She can't have much more for me. Surely this nightmare is almost over. Where is she?!_ Molly was so lost in her thoughts that she almost didn't notice the hunched figure crouching at the opening of an alley on her left.

“Spare some change, Miss?”

The voice was deeper than she'd heard before, more gravelly and rough, but it was unmistakable.

“Sherlock!” she gasped.

Two bleary blue eyes, that used to be so sharp and clear, bore into her own.

“No one's called me that in a while, Miss. I don't remember you. But then, I don't remember much. It's all gone now. No more voices. No more rush. Just buzz buzz buzz. Like a bee. I always loved bees...”

He began incoherently rambling bits of Pooh Bear's bee song and shuffling his hands together. Molly knelt beside him, feeling more helpless than she ever had before.

“Listen, Sherlock, I know you don't remember me, and it's all my fault, but I can help you! I know I can. We can fix this. I can take you back to my place, get you cleaned up, and we can get back to work. Remember the work Sherlock? Sherlock!?”

She grabbed at his tattered sleeve and shook his arm, trying to get him to look at her again. He sank forward over his knees, his matted curls hanging down over his eyes. He'd stopped muttering and was so quiet.

“No, no, Sherlock! Wake up! Wake up! Look I'm here, you can deduce me. See the stain on my sleeve from my coffee earlier? Or the crumbs on my shoes from my crisps? C'mon Sherlock, don't do this! Don't DO this!!”

She flung his arm behind her and laid him out flat checking for a pulse at his neck. Ignoring the reek of his unwashed body, she bent over him and began applying CPR. Her tears had returned and through the blur she noticed that the light had gone from those once beautiful eyes. She began to weep over him, babbling incoherently about deductions and the lab.

“I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so so sorry.”


	5. Mr. Sex

As Molly stooped over Sherlock's body still weeping harshly, two spotlessly shined shoes stepped into her blurry line of vision. She looked up, and saw standing over her, was Jim Moriarty. 

 

“Hello, Love” he said cheerily. “What's a pretty girl doing in a place like this with a pathetic mess like our Sherlock?” 

 

Molly jumped to her feet suddenly furious. 

 

“Jim! You did this! Didn't you? You killed him! With his beautiful brain and his wonderful gifts, and you drugged him up and murdered him!”

 

Moriarty shrugged noncommittally.

 

“Don't know what you're talking about, Dearest. Our poor Sherlock turned out to be nothing more than ordinary after all. At first I thought he might be different, but he wasn't. He tried hard for a while, but eventually all it took was a little bit of heroin and he melted away into plain old boring.” 

 

He tsked and shook his head down at the still form. He seemed lost in thought for a moment, then his dark eyes locked onto Molly's teary ones. 

 

“So, Pet, how did you know our dearly departed, here? Old girlfriend? That can't be right. Sherlock never was one for sex. Neighborhood hanger-on? College intern madly in love with the clever dropout? You look like a doctor, were you trying to get him clean? I'm so sorry, love. But that was never gonna happen.” 

 

Molly's rage intensified and she could feel the blood rushing in her ears. 

 

“You Monster!” she screamed at him. “You killed him and you've come to gloat! I hate you!”

 

Moriarty shook his head condescendingly, 

 

“No, love, he killed himself. Couldn't run with the big dogs. I've got no claim in this. Still, it is comforting that he's gone. Heaven knows had he ever gotten sober he might have made things interesting.” 

 

He dodged back as Molly lunged at him trying to scratch his face. She kept screaming at him as he melted into the shadows of the alley. She began to rush after him, but her arm was suddenly caught in a strong grip. She turned back to see Irene grasping her. 

 

“Where the hell were you?!! He's dead! I couldn't save him! And then Jim was here gloating, and I tried to hurt him, but he's gone. And Sh-sherlock is. Is dead. He's dead. It's too late.”

 

Molly began to weep again, and Irene looked almost pityingly at her. 

 

“You can't blame Jim for this, Mols. Unfortunately Jim actually had nothing to do with it. This is all your fault. You were never born, and you never saved him. You and Sherlock are like the old stories. Two halves of one whole. Without you, Sherlock, as we know him, doesn't exist. It terrifies him of course-- that's why he's always pushing you away-- but you can't give up on him. You have to look after him no matter what. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him. It's your destiny.”

 

Molly shook her head.

 

“No, I'm just a pathologist that lets him get away with—”

 

She stopped suddenly and looked down at who lay at her feet. 

 

“But, isn't it too late? What can I do?”

 

She looked back up at Irene, but the Woman was gone. As everything began to go dim, Molly thought she heard Irene's voice in the distance saying,

 

“Remember, Molly”

 

 

 


	6. Epilogue

 

Molly woke up to a cloudy day with the sunlight weakly streaming into her window. She shook off the cobwebby vestiges of her dream and began her day, trying to ignore the slight headache from the night before. As she walked in to work she saw Sherlock and John there frantically working on their current case. When John went out of the lab to answer a call, she noticed Sherlock bent over his microscope, worrying at his bottom lip.

She tried to engage Sherlock in conversation, the remnants of her dream tugging at her conscience, but when Sherlock asked her what he could possibly need from her, she backpedaled out of the conversation. _It was just a dream, Molly. Don't be foolish. Sherlock can look after himself. Just do your job, and let him be._

 

*    *   *    *   *   *

Later, as she was shutting everything down and heading out, Sherlock's voice startled her out of the darkness.

 

“What do you need?” She whispered.

 

“You.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, thanks for sticking this out with me. 'Twas my first foray in the world of writing fanfiction. To those of you who left notes, both helpfully critical and just plain encouraging, thanks. Thanks so much. I can't believe this generated over 500 hits. Or was liked by some of my favorite Sherlolly authors. Whether or not I ever write more fanfic, you guys made this one special. So, from the bottom of my heart, Thank You.


End file.
